


First Encounters

by Alys_Brauer, TAFKAB



Series: Chasing Stars [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Enemies, Gen, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:45:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8035645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alys_Brauer/pseuds/Alys_Brauer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: Irresistible force meets immovable object... in the middle of a dangerous construction site.





	First Encounters

STARDATE: 2245.0409.1318.20

Of all the places that Spock had visited on Earth, and there were admittedly few, hospitals made him the most uncomfortable. Humans in general were an enigma he had yet to fully figure out, despite the fact that he himself was half human, but such a concentration of ill humans made him very uneasy. There was so much volatile emotion in the air that every breath threatened to overwhelm him – and that was without actually coming into contact with anyone.

If he was perfectly honest, he would have far preferred to stay at the consulate, or on Vulcan, for this particular excursion. He supposed it makes some logical sense that he accompany his father and mother to meet prospective candidates for a new doctor for his mother, and to consult on any medical issues that might arise with him due his mixed physiology, but he couldn’t help but chafe a bit at that logic.

He really did not enjoy hospitals.

So when his father and mother excused him to tour the facilities, he clasped his hands firmly behind his back in order to minimize the chances that he might accidentally come into contact with anyone, and proceeded to try and find the most isolated section of the hospital in order to better avoid the worst of the effects of so many emotional humans in such close proximity to one another.

There seemed to be some construction in one wing of the hospital, which meant a marked decrease in the amount of people in the area. Spock found himself exiting the building to wander along the garden paths, a healthy distance away from the scaffolding to ensure the he would not be in breach of any safety protocols. It also meant that Spock could enjoy this section of gardens without anyone to bother him.

Gardens were certainly one of the things about Earth that he could appreciate. Where Vulcan was stark and sere, the dry wind hot and full of dust, and the few plants there were leathery and festooned with thorns, this place had extremely wet air, and hardly a bit of exposed ground was not covered with lush green. Formerly he had been forced to resort to greenhouses and hydroponics labs in his study of plants. Now all he need do was walk outside and look down.

The only orange he could see was a cut in the earth where construction equipment was at work digging a foundation for further expansion of the hospital. It bordered a wooded area where cultivation had not been rigorously pursued. He had never seen such a place, where unplanned plants grew wild. A particular vine interested him. It was vigorous, twining its way up the trunk of a scrawny tree. Its tripartite leaves were glossy green, broadly serrated, and arranged in a compound palmate structure. He considered taking a specimen for his collection, but perhaps it would be unwise to sample an unknown plant. He had not brought his gloves or his knife, and he had nowhere to press the leaf before it wilted.

As he debated, his attention was drawn by a shadow that passed across the ground approximately three meters away. He raised his eyes and looked up, faintly alarmed to see a human male aged approximately fourteen years walking along a decidedly dangerous avenue: an unsecured plank leading between construction scaffolding and a tall stack of steel girders.

The boy had both arms outstretched, and apparently had not noticed Spock’s presence. This would be preferable, if he were not in imminent danger of falling. It behooved Spock to sacrifice personal comfort in the name of safety. He glanced about for a human adult, but all he could see were construction barricades and streamers of plastic tape warning that no one should cross it without a hard hat. The boy was quite firmly behind the barricades, and no hat was in evidence.

“I do believe that area is restricted.” Spock spoke up in disapproval. He shot a consternated look up at the boy.

“Why, I do believe you’re right ‘bout that,” the boy drawled back in a heavy accent that Spock could not properly place. “But that doesn’t mean I’m fixing to get down just ‘cause you told me to.”

“I did not tell you to come down, but you are endangering yourself.” Spock drew himself upright. “And I suspect you are breaking the law. As such, it is my duty to report you.”

The boy turned on his heel, a wobbly operation that made Spock entertain rapid calculations involving the tensile strength of the worn plank and its rate of motion on each end; only four inches of the plank protruded over the bar of the scaffold, and it shifted in a most threatening fashion as the boy reversed direction.

In the absence of an adult, and given the boy’s failure to cooperate, perhaps it would be wisest to steady the plank rather than seeking assistance. With luck, he might succeed in persuading the boy to climb down before he fell.

He cautiously put his leg over the plastic tape, moving slowly so as not to provoke the boy to further recklessness. There seemed to be little serious danger to himself, provided he exercised caution.

The boy watched him, bouncing a little on his heels, making the plank jiggle and spurring Spock to additional haste.

“You’re not from around here. You’re from off,” the boy commented suddenly, eyes narrowing. “Yankee, by your accent.”

“Off-planet,” Spock corrected. He looked past the boy toward the pile of girders. From this angle, it was apparent they were piled on a slope, and the single inadequate stake intended to support them was tilting further as he watched. It was only loosely held, embedded in a few inches of damp ground far too close to the edge of a drainage gully. The boy’s motion applied pressure to the girders, and the leverage supplied by the board multiplied the pressures exerted by his negligible weight. It translated into a considerable amount of force, shifting the girders and resulting in more stress than the imperiled support post could withstand.

“That pile of steel beams is dangerously unstable. I predict it will collapse in approximately 37.45 seconds,” Spock told him. “Please proceed back to the scaffold at once.”

The boy scoffed, glancing back at the girders. “They look solid from here.”

“Soil erosion has undercut the support post.” Spock reached out a hand, which the boy ignored. He had only a handful of seconds before his safety margin bled away. “You have 23.14 seconds remaining.” He stepped out onto the board, which fortunately held under his added weight, and seized the boy’s wrist. Humans were weak; when he hauled the boy had no choice but to come to him-- but he had miscalculated the interval until collapse. His additional weight on the board, combined with the force of his motion, propelled the support post out of the ground 16.92 seconds earlier than anticipated.

There was a moment in which the world seemed to hold its breath. Spock used the time to drag the boy against him and seize a sturdy bar of the scaffolding in his free hand, hoping it would hold under their weight. The boy’s volatile flash of anger nearly overwhelmed his telepathic shields. It was swiftly followed by startlement, then by fear, as the board jerked free and ceased to support their feet.

But by then Spock had an elbow hooked over the scaffold, and he refused to yield despite the pain as their combined weight thudded through his shoulder.

With a slow groan and a sudden accelerating rumble, the pile of girders leaned, then collapsed with a rending groan of twisting metal and a shaking of the ground. They rolled into the twenty-meter-deep ditch, bouncing and tumbling like matchsticks. One swung wide as it fell, scything brutally through the space where they would have fallen, had Spock let go. It missed the boy’s left leg by approximately 8.2 centimeters, then struck the base of a half-finished brick wall perpendicular to the scaffold, which began leaning as if it were drunk. It slumped over the ditch, shedding bricks in stuttered punctuation to the roar of the collapse as the upper tiers crumbled. Red dust rose in a cloud, reminding Spock momentarily and absurdly of home.

“Shit,” the boy breathed in awed dismay, now clinging to him with all extremities. Spock hung onto the scaffolding stubbornly, his wrist and shoulder aching sharply under the strain. Adults would arrive soon, drawn by the commotion.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before anybody comes!”

Deprived of its supporting wall, the scaffold was now structurally compromised. Fortunately they were not too far aloft to extricate themselves before it, too, collapsed. Spock descended until he could lower the boy’s feet to the ground, but hung onto his wrist stubbornly, refusing to let him escape.

“It would be illogical to attempt to avoid responsibility for our actions.” He climbed down, not without difficulty. His shoulder was damaged, perhaps dislocated. The boy was intact.

“Fuck!” A uniformed peace officer rounded the corner at a run, trailing half a dozen curious humans in his wake, and the boy slumped in despair, abandoning his attempts to escape. “My dad’s going to kill me.”

Spock did not actually expect the human’s father to end his life; it must be a metaphorical exaggeration. “My punishment will also be severe,” he speculated, looking at the ruins.

“I hope to hell it is,” the boy spat with fury born of dread, failing to acknowledge he owed Spock a debt of gratitude for keeping him from injury. He glared at Spock, then did a startled double-take. “What the fuck are you, anyway? Some kind of hobgoblin?”

The peace officer arrived and took the boy away from Spock, who surrendered him willingly, taken aback by the additional hostility inherent in the inquiry regarding his origins. “I am a Vulcan,” he said stiffly, choosing not to elaborate on his hybrid heritage. He turned his attention to the peace officer, who had seized his arm along with the other boy’s, badly jolting his injured shoulder. It seemed he incorrectly assumed Spock’s social position, maturity, and culpability were equivalent to that of the human adolescent.

As the officer began chivvying them away from the collapse site, he judged it best to comply with the forcible relocation. “My father is Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan; he is keeping an appointment in this building with Dr. David McCoy,” he told the policeman politely. “I have been injured. Please summon him.”

The boy groaned and scruffed his one free hand through his tousled brown hair. “You may as well get them both,” he grumbled. “David McCoy is _my_ daddy.”

The officer called to a lab-coated intern, who nodded and set off at a quick trot.

“Let go of his arm,” the boy said suddenly, twisting out of the man’s grasp. “I think he’s dislocated his shoulder on that side.” Incredibly, he started to prod at Spock. “I could reduce that for you. My daddy taught me how.”

“No, thank you,” Spock answered with some alacrity. “Your age indicates you are inadequately trained to practice medicine.”

The boy scowled at him, ferocious. “Bet I know more’n you do about it.” He seized Spock’s arm in one hand and his shoulder in the other, displaying unexpected, wiry strength. Before Spock could withdraw he applied axial traction and rotated the joint expertly; it slid into place with an audible clunk. The pain immediately eased, and Spock could move the arm once more.

The boy bounced on his heels, smug.

Fascinating and unexpected. Nevertheless, Spock found himself sincerely hoping his parents would select a different physician, one that hopefully would not have any offspring.


End file.
